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them. Lady Preston was talking with Judith Cottingham but her high voice carried easily to the terrace.

      ‘It was quite understandable that Adversane should cancel the play last year.’

      ‘Mourning, d’you see,’ explained Sir James cheerfully. ‘He was besotted with Helene, of course, but I’m glad to see he’s over it now and back in the world again.’

      Damn the man, thought Ralph. Preston had been drinking heavily at dinner, and was now talking far too loud and free.

      ‘Aye, he’s back,’ Sir James continued, his words slurring a little. ‘And this year’s Midsummer festivities will be an ideal opportunity for Charlotte to become accustomed to society.’

      Judith murmured something which drew a laugh from Sir James.

      ‘Oh, no,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We won’t force her into a marriage, Mrs Cottingham. Are you worried she might make a mull of it, like her sister? No fear of that. Helene was always highly strung, of course, lived on her nerves. There’s no denying Adversane handled her very ill, but Charlotte won’t be driven to such desperate measures as her sister. Made of much sterner stuff. In fact, if only she’d been a few years older she’d have made a much better bride for Adversane.’

      Ralph turned, ready to put a stop to the conversation, but his sisters were before him. Margaret called for Sir James to join her at the piano for a duet and Caroline swept everyone into a discussion of what the pair should sing. Glancing back at Lucy, he saw that she was staring at him, her face as white as the trim on her gown. He was almost overwhelmed with an urge to protect her. He wanted to gather her in his arms but with everyone watching them he had to content himself with taking her hand.

      ‘I wish you had not heard that.’

      ‘It is not the first time, but to hear Sir James utter it, and so coolly.’

      ‘The magistrate recorded Helene’s death as an accident.’

      ‘Naturally, in deference to your standing, but that is not what everyone believes, is it?’

      ‘No.’

      He wanted to tell her what he thought had really happened that night, but what if he was proved wrong? Would those eyes now fixed so anxiously upon him fill with disgust and loathing to think he was merely trying to exonerate himself? When she pulled her hand free he made no attempt to stop her, even though it left him feeling bereft. Caroline came to the window.

      ‘Lucy, Ralph, do come and join us. You must sing another duet.’

      She took their arms, trying to move them inside, but Lucy held back.

      ‘Not tonight, Caroline, if you please. I—I have a headache.’

      ‘Oh, poor love.’ His sister was all concern. ‘It is this thundery weather. We will all feel better once there has been a storm.’

      ‘Yes.’ Lucy’s eyes flickered over him once more, their troubled look piercing his heart. ‘Yes, yes, I think you are right.’

      When she excused herself and left the room, Ralph wanted to follow her. He would abandon this charade, do anything to put the smile back in her eyes. Yet how could he? How could he allay her fears, offer her any happiness until he knew the truth himself? And for that he needed to go on with his plan.

      The others were calling for him to join them, and he was their host, after all. He forced his thoughts away from Lucy Halbrook. He was paying her well for her part in this charade, there was no need for him to feel concerned for her welfare. But even as he joined his guests he knew that he was fooling himself. Lucy’s happiness had somehow become the most important thing in his life.

      * * *

      Lucy passed a sleepless night, caused by the stuffiness of the room, she told herself, but she knew it had more to do with Adam’s declaration as they walked back together from Ingleston. The thought that Adversane was still in love with his wife and wanted to recreate her presence made Lucy uneasy, but it was nothing to the revulsion she felt at the idea that he had deliberately caused his wife to end her own life. Lucy was convinced now that they had not been a happy couple but she could not believe Ralph had intended to be cruel. And yet...why did Helene run off to the Rock alone after the play?

      She tossed and turned in her bed, Adam’s accusation gnawing at her mind. After all, what did she know of Ralph? She had seen that hard, implacable look in his eyes, guessed he could be ruthless, when he chose, but at that point she sat up in bed, saying aloud to the night air, ‘No. I know he would not do such a thing.’

      Not deliberately, perhaps, but his harshness might easily overset a more gentle nature. Unfortunately that was all too easy to believe.

      And as she lay down again, another thought, equally unwelcome, returned to haunt her. That he was still in love with Helene—so in love that he could not bear to let her memory go.

      * * *

      There was no storm that night and by the next morning the heat in the house was oppressive. Lucy rose, heavy eyed and irritable from lack of sleep. There were no orders from Ralph so she chose a fine muslin gown worn over a gossamer-thin petticoat.

      Ruthie regarded her doubtfully.

      ‘Well,’ Lucy demanded, ‘what is it? Why do you look at me in that way?’

      ‘I never saw my mistress wearing such a gown.’

      ‘Well, thank goodness for that!’

      ‘There was a muslin like it in the linen press,’ Ruthie continued. ‘I remember seeing it when Miss Crimplesham and I packed up all my lady’s things. She took them with her when she went back to be lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte.’

      ‘Well, at least there is something that won’t remind him of her,’ Lucy muttered to herself as she went off to breakfast.

      * * *

      With the threat of thunder in the air no one wanted to ride out that morning and the guests gave themselves up to less energetic pursuits. Lucy decided to try out her new paint box. She ran upstairs for an apron to protect her gown and took her things to the empty morning room, where the light was good. Byrne brought in the old easel Lord Adversane had found for her, and after suggesting diffidently that she should avoid setting it up on the master’s treasured Aubusson carpet he retreated, and she was left in peace.

      The view from the window was very fine, but there was a heaviness in the air that dulled the aspect so she reached for her sketchbook to find a suitable subject. Flicking through the pages, she found herself staring at the craggy likeness of Lord Adversane.

      A wry smile tugged at her mouth. No watercolour could do justice to that harsh countenance; it needed the strong lines of pen and ink, or the heavy surety of oils. She moved on and soon found a small sketch she had made of a drift of cotton grass, the delicate tufts standing white against the dark boggy ground. Her hand went to her cheek, feeling again the soft downy touch of the fronds upon her skin. That was what she would paint.

      Lucy worked quickly, but painting was not engrossing enough to keep her mind from wandering. Adam Cottingham’s words kept coming back to her but each time she dismissed them. She was sure Ralph could not be so ruthless, even if he no longer cared for his wife.

      How can you be so certain?

      The question, once posed, had to be answered. She could not ignore it. Ralph’s kindness to her, his wit, their shared moments—even when they disagreed violently—had given her more pleasure than anything she had ever known.

      ‘I love him.’

      She spoke the words aloud to the empty room.

      Love. What did she know of that? This was nothing like the love she felt for her parents. Apart from the painful grieving when Papa died, that love had always been a comfort. There was nothing comfortable about her feelings for Ralph Cottingham, fifth Baron Adversane. She wanted to rip and tear at him, whether it was a difference of opinion or—a shiver ran through her—in

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